36
Their teeth bared, the mermen awkwardly advanced toward Noah over the wet and slippery dock planks. He unleashed a burst from his smoking REC7 assault rifle that chopped them to green sushi, but his actions agitated those approaching from the shore.
Before Noah could fire on those mermen, the furious sea serpent rose from the bottom near the dock and fed on the mermen swimming by the dock. The victims’ shrill wails and howls grated Noah’s nerves as their blood changed the brown water to gory red. He looked away, spun toward the mermen by the shore, and squeezed the trigger, but the rifle only clicked hollowly. His marine enemies were closing so fast, he didn’t have time to reach into his shorts pockets and snap in a fresh magazine.
He flipped the empty rifle and used the weapon as a sophisticated club. He swung for the upper deck in Yankee Stadium and nearly decapitated the first arrival. The lifeless body bounced off the dock and into the water. The sea monster instantly seized the fresh corpse, chewed it twice, and swallowed it. But Noah wasn’t out of the woods. There were still several more mermen to contend with, and more climbing up onto the dock behind him. Noah brushed the burning sweat from his eyes and longed for his quiet Scripps lab days.
He pictured himself as a doomed Davy Crockett holding off Santa Anna at the Alamo, but the sea serpent inadvertently came to his rescue. Its coiled snake-like form erupted from the shallow water like a cruise missile and attacked the three remaining shore-based mermen. The iridescent scales gleamed in the tropical sun’s glare as the fifty-foot long predator compressed the mermen on the dock with a single bite, dowsing Noah with a fountain of blood.
But the sea monster’s good deed had a lethal catch.
Its considerable weight lay across the dock as it devoured its prey and gradually bowed the planks until they snapped with firecracker explosions. Arms flailing, Noah was tossed into the air and splashed on his side into the churning crimson drink. His head narrowly missed the thrashing boat’s hull by inches.
He hit the shallow sandy bottom with a teeth-jarring thud, but he managed to keep his wits. He methodically and blindly groped for the blue medicine bag and the empty REC7 in the opaque water, so he wouldn’t expend too much air. The rifle and bag hadn’t drifted far, and he quickly slipped the weapon’s strap over his shoulder and clutched the blue bag for all he was worth.
As he was falling into the drink, he managed to spy the shore, so he knew which direction to swim to safety. The trick was to make it there without being eaten.
He pushed off the bottom and scissor kicked toward shore. It was difficult to stay on course with only one arm to act as the rudder, because his kicks propelled him helter skelter. The serpent resumed its mermen buffet, and that encouraged Noah to swim faster and get out of that treacherous water. He lamented leaving the food and bottled water behind, but he was desperate to escape the boat. It couldn’t be helped.
Noah’s eyelids were tightly shut against the stinging saltwater as he instinctively proceeded toward what he believed was the shore. If his estimate was on the mark, he should beach himself beyond the sea serpent’s strike zone any second.
A few terrified mermen bumped him as they tried to escape the sea serpent, but it picked them off one by one. Would Noah be its next entrée? The giant mouth plunged into the shallows and knocked Noah end over end as it picked off another merman. Noah was forced to surface to refill his burning lungs and confirm the shore’s direction. His head bobbed up through the roiling surface, and so did a frightened merman. It zeroed in on Noah, wailed, and attacked.
Noah ducked beneath the surface just as the serpent’s yawning mouth closed in on the attacking merman. Noah was spared once more, but how long could his luck hold? He was afraid to speculate and jinx himself. One thing was clear: if he didn’t reach shore real soon, he was a goner. The serpent was running out of mermen dinners.
His legs started cramping from his uncharacteristic physical workout the past twenty-four hours. The shore seemed miles away. His pulse thumped a conga beat in his ears from the raw horror coursing through his veins. His legs grew sluggish. His lungs were aflame. His cheeks ballooned out like a puffer fish. Noah expelled air from his lungs in intervals to prevent his exhausted body from floating to the surface. Bubble clusters escaped his lips and tickled his nose.
Where was the damned shore?
Without warning, a fast-moving merman rammed his side and whacked the residual air out of his lungs. Pain exploded in his ribcage, as if the damned creature had stabbed him with a knife. The abrasive bottom sandpapered his back.
Sandpapered?
He craned his neck, and his head easily broke the surface. The shore! He made it!
Noah scrambled out of the water like a crazy man as the merman’s clawed hand swiped at his feet but missed. Furious, it flopped ashore and came after him.
But the sea serpent had developed a taste for mermen and was searching for dessert. Its giant viper head struck at Noah’s pursuer, clamped its jaws over the merman’s legs, and dragged its thrashing meal underwater.
Noah didn’t quit running until he was safely away from the cove. Suddenly, the entire dock area was quiet, and the serpent wasn’t in sight. But neither were any mermen.
The drowsy dusk of exhaustion washed over Noah, and he didn’t have any food or fresh water to recharge his physical batteries. He couldn’t waste what precious little time he and Reese had left hunting for edible plants in the jungle. She needed those antibiotics now, and he was determined to deliver them. Gathering every ounce of energy from his nearly depleted reserve, Noah wiped the perspiration from his bloodshot eyes and trekked south again along the shaded rocky boundary separating the beach and the cove. His short-term goal was to locate the freshwater pond again, but by the time he reached Terror Island’s southern tip, his sandals barely cleared the sand—each step was agony. His mind was flagging fast, and his vision grew blurry. Where was that pond?
The familiar mountain landscape sprouted to his right and provided more relief from the sun’s brutal brilliance, but his exposure on the boat and dock had inflicted enough painful damage. His back was blistered and puckered like a dried animal pelt. It sorely resisted his efforts to flex his back.
Noah’s knees threatened to buckle with each step, and he simultaneously battled debilitating waves of sleep and nausea. Just when he was about to surrender to his fatigue, he abruptly perked up.
The welcome rumble of the fresh water cataract filled his ears with hope. Noah ditched the blue bag and REC7 as he staggered into the cool, revitalizing water. His sunburn complained, but the rest of him welcomed the pool’s wintry greeting. He drank deeply.
Once he recouped enough strength to complete his journey, Noah retrieved the blue bag and his rifle and followed his own footprints to Reese’s cave. Lobster-sized crustaceans scurried away from him and scampered into generous holes in the sand, as before. The hill to his right grew steeper as he approached the southwest corner of the island. When he reached that point, he paused and studied the high cliff where the relentless sniper attempted several times to take them out. As usual, he saw nothing.
He resumed his walk. The sniper was one of many island inhabitants that hunted Reese and him. What a crazy, dangerous island.
Terror Island. The name certainly said it all.
The sun began to set the horizon aflame with vivid streaks of orange and reds as he reached the cave. But instead of rejoicing, he fell to his knees and cried out to the heavens.
The leafy tangle of brush that camouflaged Reese and the cave was strewn about the scarlet-stained beach among a man’s shredded clothes and body parts. A riotous cluster of three-toed claw prints scarred the smooth sand in front of the cave, but he ignored that for the moment. What really terrified him was the now empty cave. Where was Reese? He searched the area and could find no trace of her anywhere, and he interpreted that as a positive sign she was still alive. She was knocking on death’s door when he left for the cove, so he realized she needed
the antibiotics to live.
Exasperated, Noah clenched his fists and pounded his chest.
Where in God’s name was she?
37
Neo Doss’ muscular six-foot-six frame rested against a post in the crowded Columbus International Airport baggage claim area. To the average traveler, he appeared to be waiting for his bags to arrive on the carousel, but to the discerning eye, Neo’s continual scanning of the incoming passengers betrayed his laid back performance. He was constantly searching for both trouble and his best friend, Nick Bellamy.
And he didn’t like what he saw.
Trouble arrived in the form of several NSA agents who melted into the crowd and continually scanned the area. Neo had a real good idea who they were watching for: Nick. Why, he had no idea, but he could always count on his friend to stir the pot wherever he went. This time, it was California.
Neo shifted his weight. He was anxious to learn the details of Nick’s investigation out there as soon as they returned to Old Mother Hubbard’s. In the meantime, they had the NSA agents to deal with.
Neo was mildly surprised to see Nick exit the nearby men’s room instead of filing into the baggage claim area from the airline gates. Nick jerked his head toward the exit, indicating he would connect with Neo outside along the curbside row of parked cars.
Unfortunately, an NSA agent loitering near the taxi stand spotted Nick striding through the exit doors. The agent spoke rapidly into his handheld walkie-talkie, and three other agents quickly joined the pursuit. After giving the holstered gun beneath his lightweight jacket a friendly pat, Neo waited to leave until all the agents filed through the doors ahead of him. Neo scrutinized the jabbering crowd as he searched for Nick.
Meanwhile, Nick caught sight of the flood of NSA agents spilling from the terminal, so he ducked into the closest taxi. Neo observed Nick’s quick movement, but none of the agents saw it. Neo jogged along the terminal car lane where it merged with the taxi and bus lane, so Nick’s taxi could easily pick him up. Two NSA agents hidden near the intersection spotted the big man heading for the only moving yellow taxi. The vehicle slowed long enough for Neo to dive into the backseat and then took off like a rocket. The two agents drew their guns and fired at the vanishing taxi, shooting out the rear window. The shattered window showered the riders with hundreds of safety glass chips.
The people nonchalantly loading luggage into their cars screamed and ducked for cover once the deafening gunshots rang out beneath the extended portico. Billows of bluish gun smoke drifted toward them, forcing the smoke-sensitive individuals to race inside the terminal.
The taxi driver wanted to stop and assess the damage to his vehicle, but Nick promised him a thousand dollar tip if he continued to drive away from the airport.
Once the driver agreed, Nick turned to Neo. “Where are you parked?”
“In the short-term parking lot.”
As soon as they cleared the portico and approached the Interstate 270 ramp, Nick tossed a thousand dollars on the front seat, grasped Neo’s big hand, and teleported them away. The driver was dumbfounded when he looked in the backseat and saw his fares were gone, but the tip beside him quelled his curiosity. He decided to take the rest of the day off and get his rear window repaired.
Nick and Neo reappeared next to a fastidiously washed and waxed white, turbo powered Mercedes-Benz GLA 250.
“Let’s get moving,” Nick urged, searching the garage for their NSA friends.
Neo gunned the Mercedes-Benz, and it roared through the parking garage maze to the toll booth. Neo threw the young man a fifty dollar bill and told him to keep the change. The liftgate was raised immediately, and Neo headed for Interstate 71 South.
“Why were those NSA agents so eager to hang your carcass above their fireplace mantels?” Neo asked with a deep frown. “You piss off the government?”
“It appears that way.”
“So what gives?”
Nick grinned despite the nerve-racking state of affairs. Jonathon Foster’s team wouldn’t stop hunting him until they put a bullet between his eyes, but Nick might beat Foster to the punch and put a bullet through his forehead first. “You might say my interviews got results … and our enemy is on to me, but that’s not the worst part.”
Neo glanced wordlessly at his friend.
“The criminals behind the Final Scream operation plan to eliminate Gabriella, too—and soon, and I don’t have a clue who’s coming after us.”
Neo winced. “Ouch!”
“No shit. For that reason, I’m changing our game plan.”
Neo arched a brow.
“Since she’s at home, we’re going to her place, where we can protect her. Old Mother Hubbard’s can wait.”
“Duneden it is, then.” Neo paused. “Why don’t you teleport over to Gabriella’s mansion?”
“Her would-be killer happens to be another necromancer, and I might teleport into a trap.”
“You’re a pretty damn powerful magician yourself. What makes you think he could stop you?”
“She. The necromancer’s a woman.”
“Jesus! Another witch. But I thought you didn’t know who she was?”
“I don’t know any specific details about her other than her sex. You see, I experienced a new magical ability on the plane and…” Nick went on to describe the information absorption incident.
“You’re always evolving, Nick. We just get used to you looking one way, and the next thing you know, your genes turn you into someone completely different. I wonder when those crazy genes of yours are going to call it quits.”
“Who knows? They’re scaring the hell out of me right now.”
“You and me both, brother!”
Nick dropped the subject and phoned Crow. The computer genius picked up on the second ring.
“I don’t have time for chit-chat, Crow. I want you to take your laptop to Gabriella’s place ASAP and be sure it’s linked to Geronimo. I have a feeling we’re going to need his help.”
“Sure. What’s this all about?”
“I’ll tell you when you get there.”
“Anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, there is. Arm yourself, and order Geronimo launch one of our warrior drones to track you in case you get ambushed on the way. Geronimo is to protect you at all costs.”
“This sounds serious. Why don’t we meet here, where it’s safer?” Crow asked.
Nick hesitated. “Because someone’s out to kill Gabriella.”
“Shut the door! Hey, hold on a sec,” Crow exclaimed before he muted the phone. He came back online a minute later, and his voice sounded strained.
“What’s the matter?” Nick demanded, fearing the answer.
“Geronimo ran a scan over Gabriella’s estate with one of the nearby military satellites and found the outer perimeter crawling with gunmen.”
“Probably Foster’s guys,” Neo muttered.
“What’d Neo say?” Crow asked.
“Never mind. The men aren’t inside the fence yet, are they?”
“That’s what I said, Great White Hunter.”
“Did he see Gabriella anywhere?”
“Yeah. She’s cruising Lake Griffin in her boat.”
Nick slapped his thigh. “Dammit! The gargoyles can’t see her out on the lake if she runs into trouble.”
38
Noah searched the violent scene for clues to Reese’s disappearance and discovered a damaged sniper’s rifle and shattered scope a few yards from her hideaway. The sunset torched the beach in fiery oranges and reds as it gradually sank into the western horizon. He absently watched the boulders cast increasingly long, irregular shadows.
Twilight grays washed away the colorful sunset, and Noah sat and studied the darkening scene. There was one set of tracks leading to Reese’s cave—human ones—and numerous scattered tracks that were definitely not human. The deeper four-clawed striding imprints revealed creatures—plural—that looked to be eight to ten feet tall and weighing in at thr
ee to four hundred pounds.
A startling ocean gust from the west chilled him to the bone, and he gazed in that direction. He recoiled in horror ! The icy breeze hadn’t come from the Pacific.
A flock of golden winged monsters hovered above the crashing surf in the fading twilight before deftly landing in a circle around Noah. His legs were too weak to run, and even if he did retrieve his REC7 lying beside the cave, he couldn’t shoot them all before one nailed him. And besides, he was too tired and hungry to attempt such madness.
Their brawny bodies were umber, and their golden leathery wings folded tightly against their spines so they didn’t interfere with the movement of their four arms—two joined at their shoulders, and two attached to their bony torso. Their lizard-dog muzzle faces wore barbaric expressions. High cheekbones bounded flat nostrils at the base of their muzzles, and their lips were retracted, showing menacing rows of brown teeth. The ears were short and spiked on either side of their broad, hairless skulls, and the outline of their ribcages thrust out from their slick-skinned chests like a sculpted six pack. The ends of their four knotted fingers looked like humanoid nails in contrast to their large feet and their four bronze-colored, spur-tipped toes.
So what next?
Their copper eyes studied him as if he were an alien from outer space, which he vaguely found ironic. The longer Noah stared at their unblinking eyes, he got the distinct impression that they weren’t hostile monsters. They looked intelligent. Was he being foolish? Had his hunger finally taken hold of his senses and fired up his imagination? Did they spirit Reese away from Terror Island?
Noah’s stomach burbled wildly and started the beach spinning. He fell into the soft sand. He was sure his sudden movements would provoke them into an attack, but he was wrong. They stood around him like statues. He was faced with a Mexican standoff, and with the darkness growing deeper, he decided to go for the gusto. What the hell? He was too weak to care much about dying.
“I am Noah Wright, and I’m searching for my friend, Reese Morgan. Have you seen her?” he enunciated for their benefit. They continued to stare at him. Was he wrong about them being intelligent? He hoped not.
Final Scream Page 17
